


bitten lips and shuddering sighs

by somehowunbroken



Series: we're a fight waiting to happen [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Healing from injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3398228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's four days into ten of very limited movement so his ribs don't get worse before they get better, and he just doesn't want to deal with anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bitten lips and shuddering sighs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariadne83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne83/gifts).



> hi, my name is ki, and these assholes are ruining my life. for ari, except there's gonna be another part that's even more for ari, because this didn't go how i thought it would.

Derek's phone starts ringing. He looks at the screen, sees his dad's face, and sends it to voicemail.

It's not that he… well, honestly, yeah. He doesn't want to talk to his dad, because he knows that all the well-wishing will be thinly lined with _but you're better than that_ , and Derek's seen the tape. Dex wasn't wrong about the guy falling on purpose, and Derek's four days into ten of very limited movement so his ribs don't get worse before they get better, and he just doesn't want to deal with it.

Sue him.

There's a knock on the door just as Derek's phone beeps to let him know he missed a call. He shoves it under his pillow. "Yeah, it's open."

"Jesus," Dex says as he opens the door, "your professors are, like, the worst. I mean that with every inch of myself."

"The hell," Derek says, pushing himself carefully up. He's propped in bed, every pillow that he's got (and most of the spare ones from the Haus, courtesy of Bitty) holding him upright, but he's still not sitting straight. "What are you even doing here?"

"I have all your class shit," Dex says, thumping his backpack down to the floor. "I was over in the English building, I've got that one British Lit class with you over there, and when I asked Dr. Calen for extra handouts to bring over to you, she made me grab, like, all your shit for every class." As he talks, Dex kneels and unzips his bag. He pulls out a folder that's probably full of readings, then reaches back in for two huge volumes of poetry. "I'm supposed to tell you that if you have any questions you should just email her."

"Shit, man," Derek says as Dex piles it all on the little table next to Derek's bed. "Thanks. I think."

"Don't thank me until you look at the reading list," Dex advises. "The British Lit stuff is bad enough. That poetry shit has to be-" He coughs and stops. "Well, whatever floats your boat."

"Why are you doing this?" Derek asks. Dex stops, still staring down at the pile of work he'd brought. "I mean, thanks, it's great to have the help, but we don't - this isn't us."

Derek can see Dex's fingers curl around the poetry book on top of the pile. "Maybe I don't want to fight with you every second of every day," he snaps. "Did you ever think of that? Did that ever cross your mind?"

"Whoa, chill," Derek says, reaching out a little.

Dex jerks away before Derek can touch him. "You know what, fuck this, fuck all of this," he says, and in one smooth move he spins, grabs his backpack, and leaves, slamming Derek's door behind him.

Derek stares after him. "What the fuck," he says after a moment.

-0-

Dex shows up the next day, twenty minutes after his last class for the day ends. Not that Derek keeps track or anything; it's just that it's a class Dex and Chowder have together, and he does keep tabs on Chowder. Kid's great, but sometimes Derek feels like he needs a minder.

"Here," Dex says shortly, thrusting a new folder at him. "Some English TA caught me on my way across River Quad, said he heard I was bringing your shit to you, and asked if I could give you this." He wiggles it when Derek doesn't take it immediately.

"I'm sorry," Derek says, keeping his hands in his lap.

Dex looks startled, like he'd expected pretty much anything other than an apology. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Derek repeats. "You were - you're being great, and I'm being a dick." He tries a shrug and is thrilled when the flare of pain doesn't make him dizzy. "So. I apologise, and thanks for bringing my shit to me."

"Oh," Dex says. He lowers the folder a little, hesitating before stepping farther into the room and putting it on the table where he'd stacked everything yesterday. "You're welcome. I guess."

"What are your plans for tonight?" Derek asks when shit starts to head towards awkward territory. "You're benched tomorrow for the fight, so no practice. Kegster?"

"Nah, Bitty made everyone swear not to invite anyone over tonight," Dex says. "Something about baking pies for charity, and he doesn't want drunk coeds puking in the kitchen."

"Seems fair," Derek notes, and Dex nods.

"Jack even put a moratorium on Mario Kart," Dex confides conspiratorially. "He keeps hovering around the kitchen, and I actually heard him offer to help."

Derek can't help snorting, which is immediately followed by a grimace. "If it happens, I want so much photographic evidence."

"Bitty will never let it happen," Dex says confidently. "They took that class together last term, remember? He only just got the last of the flour off of the beaters."

"True," Derek says. "So, want to hang around and order pizza? There's a Bruins game on in half an hour."

Dex shifts like he's arguing something out in his head, but he nods after a little while. "Nothing weird on the pizza," he warns as he drops his backpack. "Like, vegetables. None of those."

Derek makes a face. "People who eat vegetables on pizza are doing it wrong."

Dex nods, then looks at him thoughtfully. "Chowder," he says after a second.

"Okay, Chowder gets a pass," Derek concedes. "Everyone else, though."

"For once we agree," Dex says. "So, where are we ordering from?"

-0-

The pizza's great. Having someone to yell at the television with is even better, even if they have to crowd on Derek's bed in order for both of them to see properly.

"What the fuck," Dex shouts as the Blues get a lucky shot in. "Stay in the crease, asshole!"

"That was a nasty shot," Derek says, narrowing his eyes at the television. "I mean, if he'd been any higher with that stick-"

"Right? Right?" Dex says, turning to glare at Derek. It seems to be his default facial expression when he's watching his team lose spectacularly. "I mean, we'd've been called for that shit, but no, Mr. NHL just gets to do whatever the hell he wants."

"Refs, man," Derek says.

"Fucking refs," Dex agrees, turning his glare back to the television.

It's just as entertaining to watch Dex as it is to watch the game, if Derek's being honest with himself. He's into it in a way that Derek somehow didn't expect, shouting and raging and bringing just as much passion to the sport of watching as he does out on the ice. His face gets red when he's mad, which Derek knew already, but watching it curl around the fading bruises on his face and spill down his face into his shirt is-

Sometimes Derek wishes he was better at lying to himself, because the pieces click together way too suddenly and he has to take a deep, ragged breath.

Which, of course, makes him gasp audibly. He's still not up to unexpected deep breathing, even if he is feeling better than he had even yesterday.

"You okay?" Dex asks, muting the game. He's still glaring, but his expression morphs into something that's more like guarded concern as Derek nods. "You're a little pale there, Nursey."

"Thought I was gonna cough," Derek lies. "Took too deep a breath. I'm fine."

Dex shakes his head. "Where are your painkillers? I know they gave you something, and I also know that the chances of you having taken one today are just barely above the chances that Jack's not hovering in the Haus kitchen right now. Which is to say, there's no fucking way you took something."

"I don't need one," Derek protests, but Dex pokes him gently high on his chest, way above where the fractures are, and Derek hisses at the way it makes his whole chest ache.

"Yeah, okay, tell me where they are or I'm calling Mom," Dex says. "And by Mom I mean Bitty, who will march his ass all the way over here to glare you into submission. Without pie."

"Fine," Derek relents. "Computer desk, tucked behind the left speaker."

Dex nods, clearly satisfied, and stands up to get the bottle. He reads the label carefully, then taps a pill out and hands it to Derek before grabbing a Gatorade and handing that over as well. "It says to eat with it. You want another slice?"

"Probably," Derek says. He's not hungry, but puking would be the worst thing right about now. Dex just nods and picks the pizza box up, putting it on the bed next to Derek before climbing back up.

They unmute the game and Dex gets right back into yelling at the television, but Derek catches him glancing over more than once, like he's reassuring himself that Derek's doing better. Derek forces himself to keep breathing evenly, and eventually Dex must be satisfied or whatever, because he turns his attention fully back to the game.

Derek's glad that his roommate pretty much lives in his girlfriend's dorm; it makes it a little less awkward when Dex flops backwards onto the bed, groaning, when the Bruins lose the shootout and end up down by one. "Why," he moans into his arm. "Nursey, why do bad things happen to good teams? Why the _Blues_?"

"Sorry, bro," Derek says sympathetically. "That was highway robbery and we both know it." He reaches out to pat Dex's arm, but his chest twinges when he extends his arm, and he drops it quickly to try to relieve the sudden pain. He sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Nursey," Dex says, and there's a strangled, weird note to his voice. "Uh. Breathe, okay."

"I am," Derek grits out. He gets himself together after a few more breaths and manages to force his eyes open. Dex's face is something close to panic, which makes a lot more sense when Derek realises that his hand landed just above the waistband of Dex's jeans.

"Shit, sorry," Derek says, and of course, _of course_ he can't just learn from his mistakes, so he quickly yanks his hand away.

"God, this is a fucking mess," Dex mutters, sitting up as Derek tries not to wheeze. Everything hurts, holy shit, and he's already taken a pain pill, so he can't even take another one. He grits his teeth and wonders if there's a position that could possibly be comfortable when everything feels like it's on fire.

"Okay, fuck this," Derek hears, and then Dex is gently uncurling him and helping him sink into his bed. He arranges the pillows so they're propping Derek on his side. "I'm gonna call Coach, Nursey, okay? Just hang tight."

"I," Derek wheezes, but his eyes are swimming. Christ, this is terrible. "Dex."

Dex's hand lands on Derek's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Right here, Nursey. Keep breathing, got it?"

Derek doesn't respond. He concentrates on his breathing as Dex starts talking, low and rapid-fire, with occasional pauses to listen. Derek doesn't focus on the words so much as the rhythm, the pattern of the rise and fall of Dex's voice as he talks to Coach Hall. It's like how he listens to poetry readings sometimes, getting the meaning from the feeling instead of the words, and by the time Dex hangs up his phone Derek's floating a little.

"Still with me?" Dex asks, shaking Derek's shoulder a little. "Coach says to put a little heat on it to help with the pain, but not too much so it doesn't swell back up. You got anything?"

"No," Derek says. "Just. Icing it."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Dex says. "That's literally the exact opposite of what I just said, Nursey. I thought you were good at this English shit."

"Poetry," Derek says, only half-aware of what he's saying. "The flow, the meter…"

Dex snorts. "Okay, well, the painkillers are at least working enough to make you loopy." He sighs and mutters something that Derek can't hear, then pats his shoulder a little. "This is gonna be weird, okay, but let's try not to make it too weird. Deal?"

"Sure," Derek says. "Normal. Nothing's weird."

"Don't count on it," Dex says, letting go of Derek's shoulder. There's a little bit of noise that Derek can't place, and then Dex is pulling some of the pillows away.

"What," Derek says, and then Dex's hands ruck his shirt up his back and Dex's solid build is pressing up against him. skin to skin. Derek has the presence of mind to not tense up, but he's bewildered as Dex tugs the afghan over them and wraps his arm over Derek's side, pressing his palm lightly against the place where his ribs are cracked.

"Now you're warm," Dex says, and his voice sounds like it had before, strained and almost cracking. "Sleep it off, Nursey. You'll feel better when you wake up, I promise."

"Dex," Derek tries.

"You said nothing was weird," Dex says. "Don't make me leave you all cold and shit." Derek whines, and Dex snorts a little laugh against the back of Derek's neck. "Go to sleep, dumbass."

For the second time in less than a week, Derek does exactly that.

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on tumblr](http://somehowunbroken.tumblr.com) to see me whine about how much these soft hockey bros are ruining me.


End file.
